He's Dead Isn't He?
by MakeSomeNoise-2019
Summary: Brendon's account on Ryan's death. How he died and why. Rydon/Ryden


He was dying.

There was nothing more to it, he was dying.

Ryan was once a lively person, filled with passion; but now, all that remained was the skeleton of that once vibrant person. That skeleton had been going through hell over the past few months. His fingers were still as long as they were before, but they were now stiff and brittle from disuse. His hair, that once was lush and fluffy, heaven for fingers to run through, was now greasy and flopping lifelessly on the side of his head. He had always been pale, it looked good on him too, when this all started we would joke about how that since he wouldn't be going out for a while he wouldn't have to bother with putting sunblock on, but those times quickly passed and his paleness was far beyond anything to joke about. His eyes, light brown and formerly full of life, were fading, little by little each day. And there was nothing I could to help him. I felt so utterly helpless.

It all started eight months and twelve days ago with back pains, shrugging it off and blaming it for sleeping in an awkward position. But then the pains got worse and more intense. Then came the waking up in the middle of the night to find him curled up in a ball, whimpering in pain with tears leaking out of his eyes. Him telling me it'd be better in the morning and ushering me back to my bunk in our crammed tour bus. Waking up to him with big grey circles under his eyes, the same eyes that were constantly holding back tears on the verge of spilling whilst onstage; eating breakfast or some other meal; laughing at some clichéd ridiculous movie; and smiling at me and telling me he was fine. Watching him walk with a slight limp so subtle only someone who had studied him walk would be able to tell the difference. Obviously that was why I was the first to notice. Nagging on him to go to the hospital so someone could check up on it for weeks until he finally gave in; me driving him to the nearest respectable hospital with him sitting in the passenger seat telling me I was fussing over nothing.

I sure hoped he was right.

But he wasn't. We took him for a normal check up with an ordinary family doctor, but when the doctor made his diagnosis he concluded that he had an "intradural neoplasm". In other words, Ryan had a rare form of spinal cancer. He explained that normally tumors in the spinal region could be removed with surgery however, given the conditions of Ryan's unusual case, this could not be done since the tumor was located so close to his spine, surgery would just damage him further. Not only that but since Ryan had paid no attention to this before, the tumor was given time to grow and was spreading throughout his body.

He underwent chemotherapy and radiotherapy, but neither of the two seemed to help much. The side effects did not include him losing all of his hair, but instead him losing his appetite and his ability to willingly fall asleep. He wouldn't eat anything and even if he did eat something it would just come out the same way it came in. Spencer, Jon and I would come visit. We'd talk to him, try and make him laugh and we were doing a good job of it too. But every so often he'd drift off for a few minutes, and when he came to he'd try and apologize when it was obviously not his fault.

Five months passed and Ryan was just getting worse and worse but he insisted he'd be better, even when he knew that me and him both weren't buying it. I'd try and visit him every day, so often that I had grown accustomed to the bitter smell of the hospital; the nurses and receptionists; the less than appetizing hospital cafeteria food; and the sickly faces of other patients.

Every day I'd walk in to find Ryan, pale and still, either just looking at his hands or half asleep. I say half asleep because ever since the pains started he was never able to properly sleep, something he admitted to me after three weeks of being in hospital. I knew there was only an extremely slim chance of him surviving but I was clinging onto that hope because I still hadn't told him how he felt. I was clinging onto that hope because I didn't want to have to lay the knowledge that his best friend had secretly been lusting for him for the past few years just then since it would make my visits awkward if he didn't feel the same. So I kept my mouth shut, telling myself that when he got out then I would tell Ryan how I felt about him.

But as time passed on, that little spark of hope started fading until it was almost completely diminished. We never spoke of it but the two of us both knew Ryan wasn't getting any better; that he was getting closer and closer to dying. It was the elephant in the room that no one ever cared to address or escort out of the room. And that's how it stayed.

Until one day. I came to visit Ryan but found him actually asleep for the first time since a long time. At first the sight comforted me but then I panicked because he was barely moving. But he had a pulse. So I sat in the chair next to his bed until he woke up. He slept a little while longer, maybe fifteen minutes, until his eyelids fluttered open and his soft eyes looked at me. I licked my lips in worry and we shared a look for what seemed to be an eternity until Ryan opened his mouth to form words,

"I'm dying Brendon." I nodded to show him that I understood, but couldn't stop a tear from leaking out my eye. He raised a hand, cupped my chin and used his thumb to wipe away the tear. I inhaled a shaky breath and spoke back to him,

"I know." My voice cracked on both the words. I took his hand in both of mine and decided that I needed to tell him, or it would never be said. But before I could say anything Ryan turned to me and said,

"I know how you feel about me," I looked away from him knowing what was coming next, rejection, "And… and I want you to know how I feel about it." This was it, the classic 'I just want us to stay friends' talk. I prepared myself for it but it never came, instead something else did.

"I-I love you Brendon, always have. I just wasn't man enough to tell you," he whispered with a shaky laugh. I looked at him disbelievingly and he returned my gaze with a heartwarming one of his own. I guess I should have felt happy and loved or at least some form of joy. Instead, I felt stupid, stupid and angry.

He looked at me expectantly and frowned when I didn't respond. His eyes became worried when I let go of his hands. I stood up and ran out of the room. I think Ryan may have been meekly calling after me but I don't clearly remember much after that. All I remember is running back to my flat and being consumed by my thoughts.

I was angry, angry with myself, but also angry with Ryan. Angry with myself because Ryan had just clearly told me that if I had grown a pair and asked him out all this time he would have said yes. But was angry with Ryan because how could he tell me now? On the verge of dying? What do I do with this knowledge once he's gone? Beat myself up constantly for reasons mentioned before? How could he go and tell me that right before dying? I guess it could be so that if he died at least I would know. But like I said, once he's gone it'll mean nothing. It hurt, it hurts to know that he'd loved me all along and it was my own fault for not making a move.

I woke in the middle of the night to my cell phone ringing. I picked it up without checking who it was,

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is George Ryan Ross's doctor, Brendon is that you?"  
"Dr. Crane, how's Ryan?" I knew what to expect when the other side of the line went silent.

"He's dead isn't he?" I heard him mumble back positive sounding answer. I thank him for telling me and hung up. I sat back down on my bed and sighed. I wasn't surprised by this news whatsoever. It was coming and I had accepted that the day before, when Ryan had addressed it. I realized that our last few moments together might not have been the happiest or most favourable moments of my time with, but we still had much more good than bad. I did however regret the last thing that I said to him. "I know." Very meaningful of me. But it's too late now to do anything about that; I just have to carry on with my life.

It's what Ryan would have wanted.


End file.
